


come on baby (beat me up)

by dustofwarfare



Series: come aboard (let's go dreaming) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Poly V, being squall's boyfriend isn't easy, figuring it out, redemption isn't easy, seifer's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: Seifer used to be better at talking about his feelings, or so he thought; maybe he’d just been good at reacting to them, which isn’t really the same thing.Seifer deals with students, the administration, birthday parties he'd rather not attend and memories he'd just as soon forget.___(Part III of the series, Part IV will be an alternating POV. As mentioned, this is a Seifer/Squall-centric fic, but the relationship is Seifer/Squall/Rinoa as a polyamorous V with Squall as the point.)





	come on baby (beat me up)

**Author's Note:**

> Content Advisory note: This part is from Seifer's POV and as such, there are some references to past sexual abuse/torture he suffered during his time as Ultimecia's Knight. They aren't terribly graphic or overly-detailed, but they are there so I wanted to mention it. Please feel free to ask if you're worried/want more info about it before reading.

**Come on baby (beat me up)**

Seifer is standing by the outcropping of rocks, eyes narrowed as he watches three of his students facing off with a caterchipillar. The thing is writhing around and making that hideous face it makes, and Seifer wonders for the thousandth time what kind of fucked-up god Hyne is for making things that look like this and throwing them on the same planet as people.

“No, Jaran,” he calls, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to try that cross-strike you better not get that close or – well, there you go, that’s what happens. Monster goo in the face.”

Jaran is Seifer’s favorite student, because despite the fact she’s five-foot three and shorter than basically every other cadet in the Garden, she fights like she’s got something to prove to the whole fucking world and Seifer appreciates that. Also, he knows a born troublemaker when he sees one. He’s kind of an expert.

Something about her reminds him a bit of Fu back in their cadet days. The thought makes him smile – or would, if he wasn’t watching his other two hack gracelessly at the unmoving creature. He only has three students in the advanced class, and at the moment, it seems like he shouldn’t have any. Idiots. Was he this stupid as a cadet?

 _YES,_ he can hear Fu say. 

“Look, you need to focus on technique and I’ll ram that into your thick skulls as much as I can, but as a gunblader I’m insulted at your lack of finesse,” Seifer calls out, marching over. He gives his students an unimpressed look. “You’re not butchering that thing for meat, you know that, right? What is wrong with you?”

“Dunno about that,” Grayson says, his face half-covered in brightly-colored monster blood. “Have you had the hot dogs in the cafeteria recently? I think this might be what they’re made of.”

His fellow classmates look horrified, and Jaran makes a gagging sound that Seifer doesn’t think is entirely feigned.

Another caterchipillar slithers toward them, too stupid to realize what it’s ambling toward because apparently Hyne ran out brains by the time he got around to making these things. Seifer points at it with his gunblade. “Take that out, and do it _quickly_ while still impressing me with actual skill.”

His students nod, and he notes with something entirely too close to fondness that while Grayson and Ling wield their revolver-style gunblades with a two-handed grip (like a certain someone), Jaran’s weapon is a pistol-style like his, and she uses his own one-handed strike. Or is trying to, anyway. The gunblade might weigh more than she does.

He has a lot of students – gunblades are definitely popular now, and he supposes in some small way he’s partly to blame for that. Just not in the way he thought he always wanted. Seifer wanted to be a hero, but that sort of got derailed and so, hey, maybe being an anti-hero isn’t all that bad.

Grayson and Ling are both Squall-fanboys, and they try very hard to emulate Squall’s sort-of bored expression of _that thing was barely worth my time_ while they attack. They don’t do a very good job, though it’s funny to watch them try and be impassive when they take a faceful of entrails.

Jaran, on the other hand, performs her finishing move and grins like she loves every fucking second. She gives her gunblade a twirl and looks over at Seifer. 

She’s definitely his favorite.

“That’s enough for today,” he says, and motions them back toward the road that will take them to the Garden. Ling and Grayson take point, and Jaran falls in step beside him.

“Instructor Almasy, is it true that you grew up in an orphanage?”

Seifer blinks; it’s the first time a single one of his students has asked him anything about – well, himself. They know who he is, obviously, and even what he’s done – but no one has said anything to him about it, though he’s walked into a few conversations that have stopped abruptly, heard some whispers that were a little too loud.

Which is fine. He kind of likes the notoriety even though he’s aware that’s probably childish.

He nods. “Yeah. On the cape of the Centra continent. Why?”

She hunches her shoulders, making her look even smaller. “I grew up in a foster home. Did you go back to the orphanage when there was a holiday?”

Seifer slows his natural long-legged stride; it’s obvious she doesn’t want her two classmates to overhear whatever she’s getting at. “Nah. The orphanage closed when the former headmaster, Cid Kramer, opened Garden. So there wasn’t really anything to go back to.”

Not to mention he’d forgotten about the existence of the orphanage and his entire childhood. The Garden is working on how to keep people’s memories from being snacks for their GFs, and so far they’re having an okay success rate when it comes to navigating shared mindspaces.

Seifer has Ifrit but so far he’s remembered everything; he’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse at this point.

“Oh. So you just stayed here?”

He nods, remembering how he and Squall would have dinner with Cid and Matron. Seifer doesn’t want to think about this at all; either those dinners or the former headmaster. If Cid were still here, Seifer never would have come back. And he’s absolutely not going to think about Matron right now. He still has nightmares about the things he did both in her name and _with_ her, but that thought gets slammed behind a mental door as Seifer turns his attention to his student.

“Do you think I could do that, too?” she asks, giving him a hopeful look.

Seifer shakes his head. “I think if you have a family that wants to see you, since you’re underage, you’re supposed to go with them.” Quistis has strong feelings about families, and not alienating students from theirs. It’s a testament to the kind people who adopted her, and the family she’s found for herself at the Garden, that she thinks everyone is as lucky as she is.

Jaran’s mouth sets. “Oh. Well, can I take my gunblade home so I can practice?”

Seifer is smarter than most people think he is. They remember him failing his SeeD exam but apparently not why; he aced the written exam, it was just dealing with morons he had a problem with. So he knows there’s something wrong here, something she’s getting at, and he has a good idea what it is.

Besides. Seifer spent enough time as a bully to know the fear of one when he sees it.

“Someone bothering you at home, Lowell?”

She shrugs, arms wrapped defensively around her small frame. “Just thought it might be nice to practice, that’s all.”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, kid,” he says, and the use of the nickname makes her glare up at him with stormy blue eyes. She wants him to treat her seriously and is so earnest about it, Hyne, she reminds Seifer of himself. “Are you in trouble?”

Honestly, he has no idea what to do in this situation. He’s used to correcting stances and grips, not family drama. This isn’t something he’s even remotely qualified to handle, especially considering how all his own coping mechanisms are either violent, unhealthy, or probably illegal.

It’s the wrong thing to say, and it would have been the wrong thing to say to him, too. She stiffens and shrugs, and if anyone’s mastered the disaffected look Squall’s so fond of, it’s her. “It’s no big deal, Instructor. I just wanted to practice.”

She takes off in a jog to join her classmates. He’s thinking about what she said, and it bothers him enough that after they return to Garden, he leaves them in the armory to clean their weapons – he can trust the three of them not to fuck that up – and goes to find the headmaster.

He’s not sure what he’s going to say, because he knows the last thing Jaran wants is for him to drag nosy Headmaster Trepe into her business. But the thought of someone fucking with her in any way is equally as unacceptable. Why are they training mercenaries if they’re just going to send them into the world without their weapons?

“Seifer, hi.” Quistis waves him into her office. “I was going to come and find you, later. Your quarterly evals are in, and you’ve been bumped up a pay grade.” She beams at him. “Yay!”

Seifer’s never been that interested in money, except when he was trying to find a job and pay for things after his pardon. Thanks to growing up in an orphanage and a military institution, he had no concept of being required to pay bills. Money, whenever he had it, was for contraband goods like the cigarettes he smoked as a cadet, or clothes like his favorite white coat. As instructor at Balamb Garden, he’s given free room and board, so mostly all he spends his money on is gas for his motorcycle, enough clothing to flaunt the dress code, and books.

“You ever think it’s funny that you ended up an instructor, given how much hell you put yours through?”

He takes a seat in the chair in front of her desk and gives her a decent approximation of the smirk he used to give her in class. “The only reason I didn’t listen to you was you had no sense of authority, Trepe.”

She just shrugs; she’s got it now, in spades, and this time she knows how to use it. “Well, that was a few years ago and now I can fire you if you act like an ass.”

“Ain’t revenge sweet,” he drawls.

“Ain’t it,” she fires back, and the feistier Quistis isn’t one he’s used to, but it suits her better than a doormat. Especially considering that in his memories of her as a child, while still vague, she was such a bossy little thing.

“I wanted to see if I could make a request for a student,” he says.

She studies him for so long, it looks like she’s been hit with a Stop. He snaps his fingers. “Yo, Trepe. Headmaster. Hello?”

“I’m just reveling in the moment of you caring enough about a student to come see me and ask me for something,” she says with clear relish.

Well, that’s annoying. It’s true, but he doesn’t want her to _know_ that. “What if my request is to feed one to a T-Rexsaur?”

“Denied. Is that all?”

“I want to allow my advanced students to take their weapons home over the holidays.”

She frowns at him. “Also denied. Seriously, what is it? Stop joking around. I have a meeting in four minutes.”

“No, that’s really it,” Seifer says, annoyed, because he doesn’t see why this is a big deal. “It’s only three, and if they come back here after the holiday having forgotten their drills I’ll bump them back to my regular class.”

She taps the edge of a pen on her desk, which she used to do all the time as an instructor. “You can’t do that. Also, the other reason I wanted to see you was to tell you that you have to promote more students, your intro classes are too full.”

“Can’t help that everybody loves me, babe.”

Her whip sings right next to his ear, gone in a flash and clearly meant as a warning. If he were in another life that wasn’t his, it might’ve gotten him hard how close she just came to hitting him without actually doing it. “Don’t ever call me that again, Seifer, or the only job you’ll have around here is sweeping out grat pens and I _mean_ it. I didn’t get this job to have former punks like you call me names.”

He gives her a wounded look and puts a hand over his heart. “ _Former_ punk? I’m insulted, Madam Headmaster. Headmistress?” He snorts. “That sounds like you work in some underground Deling City S &M Club.” He could see that, honestly. Probably because of the whip. It’s a testament to how he’s maybe grown up a little that he doesn’t say that. “And I’ll add more students to my advanced class when they impress me enough to earn a spot in it.”

“Seifer, for the love of Hyne, no one goes from _beginner_ to _advanced_. How about an intermediary class? Can you think of a few students who might do well in one?”

He thinks about that, because as much as it might gall him to admit it – especially to her – Seifer does like his job. He nods. “Yeah. Probably.” He holds up a hand. _“If_ you let me send my three advanced students home with weapons for the holidays, I’ll add another class. And, yes, _fine_ , students to attend them.”

“Seifer, I can’t let cadets walk out of here with Garden weaponry,” she says, staring at him. “Is there something going on? Some reason they in particular might need to defend themselves?”

 _Because the world is fucking scary?_ “The reason is that I don’t want them coming back after a month without having practiced, do you know how annoying incompetency is?”

“Yes,” she says, looking amused. “I do.”  

“Seriously, you want people to succeed you gotta give ‘em incentives,” Seifer says, searching wildly for some other way to convince her. “Doing well enough to bring your weapon home, that’s an incentive.”

“Slaughter your whole family when they don’t get you a Samhain gift!”

“You realize these are teenagers we're training to kill, right?” Seifer asks, more than a little annoyed by her hypocrisy.

“By the time they pass that exam, we _trust them_ with their weapons. Are you saying you trust these three students of yours?”

Seifer nods. He mostly trusts Jaran, but honestly, he thinks Grayson and Ling will just shove their cases under the bed and then lie about having practiced.  

“You let in two more students to your advanced class, you start up an intermediary class after the holiday break _and_ you come to my birthday dinner.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Do that, and you can send your three students home with weapons.”

He stares at her, running through the offer and trying to decide if he’s changed enough to inconvenience himself for the sake of someone else. It’s not that he minds the idea of an intermediary class, and he can grudgingly think of at least two students who won’t embarrass themselves joining the advanced students, but Quistis’s birthday party? Ugh.

Then he remembers Jaran, the way she’d huddled in on herself and how it feels when you know that you’re not safe because someone took away everything you could ever use to protect yourself. “Fine. You’ve gotten ballsy, Trepe. Headmaster. Whatever the fuck you want me to call you.”

“Quistis is fine. We’re colleagues.” She holds her hand out. “Shake on it, and I’ll send the information for the party to your email and a permission slip for your students to the armory.”

Seifer shakes her hand. He already knows the information for her birthday party, because it’s on the stupid shared calendar that Rinoa insists they use. But no way is he gonna tell her that.  

***

“Listen up,” Seifer says to his students. “Couple of announcements. One, we’ll have two new students in here after the break – Maris Devane and Jeremy Costos.”

“Costos?” Grayson snorts. “Great. You think we make a mess. One time he exploded three grats and got some guts up his nose. Like it gave him this weird infection and something happened with maggots –”

Seifer throws a pencil at him. “That’s enough.”  

“Devane’s good, though,” Ling pipes up, as if Seifer actually asked any of them for their opinions. “Don’t tell her that her hair is pretty. Or, uh, anything else about her. I did that once and I kinda thought she was gonna cut off my ba--. Cut me.”

Normally Jaran would say something scathing about _you can say the word balls around me, dumbass_ , because she hates when her classmates try and act like she’s something that should be protected instead of feared. But at the mention of Maris’s name, her face turns an interesting shade of red and she slumps in her seat a little. 

Ah. A crush, then. Well, Seifer knows all about having a crush on a gunblader with pretty hair, doesn’t he?

“Second thing. You have a break for the Samhain holiday, and that means you’ll get lazy and fuck off and not practice, which means I’ll have to reteach shit and you know I hate wasting my time, right?” He waits for them all to nod. “Good.  So you’re all gonna take home your weapons and practice at _least_ an hour a day, no excuses.”

Jaran’s head snaps up at that, her wide blue eyes even wider in her small, pale face. She wears her hair cut brutally short, almost shaved, and it makes her look like some kind of sprite you’d find hiding from humans in a forest.

Grayson and Ling don’t groan, exactly, but it’s close enough. “Aw, Instructor Almasy! You were the one teacher we didn’t think we’d get homework from.”

“It’s not homework. It’s just what I expect. Besides, there’s gonna be a new intermediary class starting up and when students wanna jump from that class to this one? They challenge one of you for your spot, since I’m keeping this class capped at five.” He’s making this up on the spot, but the more he thinks about it, the better of an idea it seems. “So if you want to not practice…you might be re-arranging your schedule when you get back, but hey, not my problem.”

He probably should run this plan by Quistis. That whole “it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission” maxim isn’t a universal truth, especially for reformed villains.

“The armory master knows to expect you before you head out. Have a good holiday, and if you hurt anyone and blame it on me, I will absolutely feed you to a monster somewhere they’ll never find your body.”

“Yes, Instructor,” they chorus, and maybe it’s him but he doesn’t hear nearly enough fear in there, given his history.

On the way out, Jaran catches his eyes and gives him a slight nod. “Thanks, Instructor Almasy.” The look she’s giving him makes him realize he did the right thing, and he’s glad that whatever happens she’ll be able to fight back.

There was always more to Seifer’s desire to be a knight than just glory and attention. It’s nice to know maybe Ultimecia didn’t burn it all away into ash.

***

“I don’t want to go to Quistis’s birthday party,” he tells Squall, later.

“Then don’t.” Squall is sitting on the floor of his apartment, his back against the couch, Seifer’s legs spread on either side of him. There’s enough paperwork that Squall is piling it into little stacks, surrounding him like the world’s most boring fort.

The position does mean that Seifer can rest his game controller on Squall’s stupid head, though.

“I have to. I promised.” Seifer never breaks his promises, which is, hilariously enough, sort of what got him in trouble in the first place. “She did something for me.”

Squall doesn’t appear interested, which makes Seifer frown and hit him lightly on the head with the controller. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“You’ll tell me anyway.” Squall tilts his head back to look up at him. Seifer is struck, again, by how pretty Squall is and how this thing with them is actually working.

“I think one of my students has a creeper for a foster parent, so I wanted her to be able to have a weapon during the holiday in case someone tries some shit with her.”

Squall blinks, then moves with his usual grace and turns so he’s kneeling between Seifer’s legs. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why?”

Squall needs a haircut, so he does that thing where he slightly tosses his head to get his hair out of his eyes and it makes him look like he’s the lead singer of a boy band. “Did you tell Quistis?”

“Yeah? I mean, I told her that I wanted my advanced students to take home weapons over the holidays so they didn’t embarrass me when they got back. Figured she’d believe that way more than me caring about some kid.”

Squall’s slate eyes stare into Seifer’s, unblinking, sharp as ice. “What’s the real reason you didn’t tell her?”

“So that Quistis wouldn’t send Garden personnel or SeeD operatives to their house and make a ruckus? It’s obvious this student just wants to feel safe and what the fuck is the point of teaching them to use weapons we won’t let them have?”

 “Is it Jaran Lowell?”

Seifer throws up his hands and scowls. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Squall. I’m serious. I know this kid and she’ll run and not come back if we stick our noses in where they don’t belong. As long as she has her weapon, she’ll be fine.”

“She’s in danger in her house, and you think we should just ignore it?”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Seifer says, running out of his limited patience for defending his very wise course of action. “I did what I thought would help her, which is giving her something to defend herself.”

“You realize that physical violence isn’t the answer to every problem, right?”

Seifer stares at him. “You realize you’re the commander of a _mercenary organization that solves problems through violence,_ right?”

Squall huffs, but he can’t exactly argue with that.  

“Are you going to pull rank on me about this?” Seifer asks.

“No,” says Squall, then adds, “You don’t have a rank, remember?”   

Seifer thwaps him with the controller again. “Neither does she, and let me tell you, the world isn’t exactly a picnic for people without carte blanche to sling swords and magic around. And I think you’re missing the point where Quisty agreed and said they could take their weapons, and come _on_ , Squall, you and I snuck out with our gunblades all the time to go to that shop in Balamb when we were cadets, remember?”

Squall smiles a little. “Oh, yeah. We’d argue about upgrades and which of our styles were better until the employees made us leave.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. I understand that if you think subtlety is best – which I’m kind of not able to believe, coming from you – then that’s going to inform any decision I make.” He studies Seifer with his usual sharp focus. “You care about her, huh.”

He has a mean answer on his tongue, easy as anything, but Seifer bites it back. While no one may believe it, Seifer is trying not to react like an asshole every time someone suggests he might care about something. It’s a defense mechanism and he knows it; in the past he cared about things outwardly and loudly, and look how that ended up. “Yeah. She’s…you know she’s the only one who fights with a pistol-style blade? And she does it one handed, too.”

Squall picks up the pride in Seifer’s voice, but his expression doesn’t get any less weighty. “If you think this is good enough, I’ll trust you’re handling it appropriately. But when the term starts and she’s out of that house, I’m having someone make some discrete inquiries.”  

Trust from Squall is not something Seifer wants to treat lightly, and that seems like a reasonable compromise. “Thanks. Now, about this birthday party I don’t want to go to.”

Squall reaches out and rubs his thumb over the scar cutting down Seifer’s forehead. Squall isn’t outwardly affectionate outside of bed, but sometimes he’ll do things like this; brush Seifer’s hair back (which is futile, but nice), touch his scar, and sometimes in bed he’ll rub the callouses on Seifer’s gunblade hand with his thumb.

Being this hungry for attention from Squall isn’t new, but getting it, well, that is.

“Rinoa says everyone’s curious about you.”

“Great, that really makes me want to go even _more_ now,” Seifer drawls, scowling.  

“I know how much you hate attention,” Squall says, very seriously. He does have a sense of humor, it’s just as dry as the Centran desert and usually at Seifer’s expense, the asshole.

“Even you can’t possibly be dense enough to not understand why I might be dreading this.”

“Yeah. Which is why I know you’re serious about helping out Jaran. You’d never sit through dinner with everyone if it didn’t matter.” Squall’s glacial eyes warm a little, as much as they ever do for anyone, and Seifer feels his heart pound in his chest because of how much he likes that.

“I’m not getting her a present,” Seifer grouses, going back to his game.

“She doesn’t want presents, she said so.” Squall stretches, sinuously, like a cat. “You missed a treasure chest in that last room.”

“I also missed the part where I asked for your help,” Seifer snaps, but he sighs and goes back a screen to find the treasure chest.

There’s a monster in it, which is so fucking typical, Seifer just laughs.

***

“Seifer!”

Oh, no. Seifer looks up from the desk where he’s finishing up his notes on his students, which is hard because there are a couple in the beginner class that he doesn’t know because they’re terrible and not going to be there after the break.

_Gallant Bergeron – is that the kid who shrieks every time they hit something, or the one who sticks his tongue out every single time he spars and will one day bite through it because he’s a moron?_

“Rinoa.”

“You don’t have to sound so happy to see me,” she says, letting herself in the classroom. “I’ve never seen you doing actual work before, how strange.”

“This isn’t work, it’s just stupid paperwork that Quistis makes me do. And hey, I’ve never seen _you_ do any paperwork, Ms. All I Do Is Attend Conference Calls And Meetings.”

She doesn’t look bothered by him at all, which is annoying. He’s finally admitted to himself that he’s in love with Squall Leonhart and has been since he was a teenager, but his feelings about Rinoa are less clear. He does feel bad for what he did to her, and his apology earlier in the summer was sincere and, he knows, sincerely accepted.

The thing is, he knows that if it weren’t for both her intervention and her permission, the only thing he’d have with Squall is a tense relationship shadowed by an ugly history and an old rivalry. He hates feeling grateful to her for that, and he also hates the thought that she could put an end to this anytime – he’s not sure entirely what Squall feels for him, but he knows that he’ll never leave Rinoa.

And he doesn’t even _want_ Squall to leave Rinoa. They’re good for each other and he’s not jealous of their relationship in the slightest, other than perhaps he’d like to see Squall more than once or twice a week, but that’s more to do with Squall’s schedule than anything.

Normal Seifer Almasy procedure would be to act like an asshole to her, but for some reason, she seems to think he’s funny and it never seems to bother her.

“Why do we have a semester break in October, anyway?” she asks, perching on the edge of one of the desks in the front row. “I meant to ask that last year, is it really for Samhain?”

“Raise your hand if you have a question, Ms. Heartilly,” he says, deciding Gallant Berge-whatever is the tongue-sticker-outer, and the other kid he doesn’t remember, Mikos, is the squeaker. Why not.

“Instructor Almasy, why does Garden have a break in October for a month?” she sing-songs, waving an arm around.

“Because we just do?” he shrugs. “I don’t know, we always have. This isn’t like a regular school, Rinoa. We cycle through classes faster and a lot of the time it depends on how many exam candidates we have. And I think it’s because Samhain was always a big deal to Matron, so Headmaster Cid wanted to go see her or something.”

He feels a shudder of unease, not wanting to talk about Matron. He knows the thing he served wasn’t really Matron, just wearing her skin – but he’s had a lot of nightmares recently, and talking about it means it’s harder to push to the back of his head and ignore.

“You’re practically besties with the headmaster,” Seifer reminds her. “Why don’t you ask her this stuff?”

“I do, but her answers are like, six times longer than yours and start with things like, _back when Garden was first established…_ ”

Seifer looks up and grins despite himself. She does a passable Quistis impression. “That’s what you came here to ask me about?”

“Nah. Different thing, actually. It’s about Quistis’s birthday party.”

Suddenly, he thinks maybe he found a way out that he hadn’t considered before. “Look, don’t worry, I know it might be awkward with the three of us in one room. So I’m perfectly willing to bow out as long as you tell Quistis it was your idea. You’re welcome.”

She makes a face at him. “What? No! I want you to go.”

He leans forward. “Are _you_ trying to get out of going?”

“Seifer, you know full well I already RSVP’d! Or you would, if you ever bothered to look at the calendar I made instead of changing the title of your weekly date night event.” She giggles suddenly. “But I liked the last one. I almost left it on there.”

Seifer hates having his nights with Squall called a _date night_ because it sounds dumb, so he’s been changing the title of the event to something dirty just to be a dick. This time it was _Rimjob Until Squall Begs For It (SA’s Place)_

It’s also way more indicative of what happened. Squall really does like being rimmed. “Okay, so, what is it about Quistis’s birthday?”

“I think that we shouldn’t hide the whole thing about you and Squall being together,” she says. “We should probably tell people.”

Seifer stares at her. “What? Do you want Squall to make some kind of pre-dinner announcement or something?”

“Sure, if I thought for a second that he’d do it,” she says, amused. “I mean, is there a problem if people know you two are dating?”

Can’t she call it literally anything else? Rimjobbing? He starts doodling gunblades on his paperwork. “No one here likes me anyway. So it’s not like it’ll change anything for me, but that’s not true for Squall. He’s the one with an actual reputation to lose, so why are you asking me?”

“Because it’s your decision, too,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t mind telling everyone and I don’t mind if you don’t want to, but…you two are going to give yourselves away. It’s kind of obvious at this point and I think it’ll go over better with the others if they hear it directly instead of, uh, see it.”

“Ah, see, you might have gotten me to agree if you hadn’t said that. I don’t _care_ about them or what they think.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Seifer. Are you all right if people know or not?”

“Yeah, fine, go ahead, I don’t care.” She's right, they're really bad about being discreet. They fight all the time in public, so it's probably only a matter of time before Seifer forgets himself and kisses Squall to shut him up in the middle of a hallway or something.

Actually, wait. He's already done that. It's only a matter of time before someone sees him doing it. 

“Okay. I’m glad you’re coming. I really am. Even though I know you’re only doing it as some exchange of favors. I really do think you could have friends here, if you wanted.” She looks so sincere about that, as if these people _want_ him to be their friend.

“And I keep telling you that I don’t _need_ any more friends. I have Fu and Rai, even if they’re not here, and then I have Squall and you, so that’s way more than I need, and –”

He can’t speak, because Rinoa makes a sound like his stupid shrieking student and flings herself at him. Seifer stands up and catches her mostly out of instinct, and her arms go around his neck and she says, very loudly and way too close to his ear, “Seifer! You just called me your friend!”

He pats her gingerly on the back and that’s when the panic washes over him. Suddenly she’s not Rinoa but someone else, her scent morphing into something cloying and fetid like rotten flowers. He can feel the echo of her magic deep down where his bond once was, can feel the tendrils of it catching on all the jagged edges and recoiling when it feels whatever taint Ultimecia’s bond had left behind.

He’s remembering Matron – _no, Edea, you didn’t know who she was when you first became her Knight_ – and her cut-glass smile, the hands that became something inhuman and talon-tipped, the way she’d tasted too sweet like poison when he’d --

_No._

It’s not Edea but his mind isn’t recognizing that, it just knows _sorceress_ and _pressed up against you even though you don’t want her there._

Seifer makes a sound and shoves – luckily, Rinoa must have sensed something was wrong because she moved away just in time to avoid smashing anything delicate on rough edge of the metal desk.

“Seifer…are you okay?”

No, he’s not okay. He’s thinking about Edea, her striking beauty that was somehow so familiar even though at the time he didn’t know why. The way her body felt underneath his trembling hands, the way everything seemed slightly off; her scent, her kisses, and then the memory of _who she really was_ slamming into him like a train when he was still inside her –

Seifer feels sick and he grabs at the desk, digging his palms into the metal, desperately seeking pain that will chase the images out of his head. “Rinoa. Leave me alone.” He’s about to say _please_ , he’s so desperate. 

Something about whatever he’s feeling must resonate on a magical level; she looks indescribably sad. She leaves with a muffled, “I’m sorry,” but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even relax when he hears the door close behind her.

***

Seifer works out for three hours after Rinoa leaves his classroom, forcing his body to the edges of his endurance in the training room and beyond, hoping to exhaust himself enough to sleep. He could cast Sleep on himself, but that’s always a risk. He’ll fall asleep immediately, but if he ends up in a nightmare there’s no waking up until the spell has run its course and he’s not in the mood to be trapped. 

Seifer gets back to his apartment, showers off the sweat and grime from his training and sits down to clean his gunblade – or tries to. His hands are shaking too hard, so he goes to the kitchen to find the whiskey he keeps around for whenever things start getting bad. He’s been lucky, really, since he came back – the nightmares haven’t bothered him nearly as much, but of course it’s too much to hope they’re gone for good.

If his hands stop shaking, he can clean the gunblade. If he can clean the gunblade, his mind might focus. If he stops thinking about the things he did with a woman who was technically his _foster mother_ , then maybe he can sleep.  

He knows this routine, he did it constantly after the war. In a succession of crappy apartments, drinking to steady his hands and then cleaning a spotless weapon just for the familiarity. He’d do it six, seven times a night sometimes and it still wouldn’t be enough.  

There’s a knock on the door, which Seifer ignores, but of course it doesn’t stop. The knocks are very firm and evenly-spaced, and it’s obvious who it is just from that alone.

Eventually Seifer gives up. “Just come in, you know the code.” The fact Squall waited for an invitation despite that helps more than the whiskey. 

Squall walks in, sees Seifer staring down at his still-dirty weapon like he’s never seen it before, and frowns. “What is it?”

There’s a moment where Seifer thinks about telling him to get the fuck out. Squall would go, if Seifer insisted. He doesn’t want Squall to leave, not really, but he also doesn’t think he deserves to have Squall stick around. Maybe all he deserves is to suffer for the things he’s done, and the reason it’s never stopped is because it will never be enough.

“Seifer?” Squall tilts his head.  

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you about – being her Knight. And sometimes I get fucked up about it.” Seifer glances down at the gun. “Which, let’s not lie, I deserve. So don’t worry about it.”

“Does cleaning your gun help?” Squall asks.

“Yeah,” Seifer says, not looking at him. “But my hands are shaking. So that’s why I have the whiskey.”

“Okay. Then drink another glass and let’s do this.”

Seifer watches as Squall very calmly unsheathes Lionheart and lays it on the table. It’s perfectly clean, but it doesn’t stop Squall from taking it apart anyway.

Seifer drinks another shot of whiskey and goes to sit in front of his blade. His hands shake for a few more minutes and he drops a few components before they finally stop. Squall barely pays him any attention, and the only time he speaks is to ask Seifer to pass him a tool or a rag or some oil.

As they sit there in silence and clean their weapons, some of Seifer’s panic starts to fade.

He’s exhausted when they’re done, the whiskey mellowing him enough to make him sleepy and the long hours of physical activity finally catching up with him.

“Come on, it’s late,” Squall says, and starts walking to the bedroom.

Seifer blinks and follows him in a daze. Squall strips out of his clothes to his boxers, waits for Seifer to do the same, then snags Seifer’s shirt and pulls it on like he always does after they have sex and they fall into bed together.

But they haven’t had sex, it’s the last thing on Seifer’s mind and he knows how Squall feels about cuddling so this seems weird. There’s a snarl caught up in Seifer’s mind because he doesn’t want Squall’s pity, he’s never wanted that.

But he gets in bed anyway and Squall manhandles him so he is on his side, facing the window. Squall presses up behind him, one arm around his waist, and his face pressed against the back of Seifer’s neck. “This okay?”

“You hate snuggling,” Seifer says, and his voice sounds hollow, empty.

“No, I don’t. It’s just that you’re just as intense about it as you are everything else, so when you’re the one behind me, it’s like you have too many limbs and I can’t breathe.” Squall yawns, and Seifer can feel the exhale against the back of his neck. “And I’m a control freak. So this is better for me. If you don’t like it, we can switch. Or I’ll move over.”

“It’s fine,” Seifer says, and it’s more than fine, it’s…he likes it, a lot, feels sort of safe and at least like he’s not spinning off into the dark.

“Okay.”

Squall says nothing else, just breathes, tucked up against Seifer’s back, slightly cool because he always is, thanks to Shiva.

There’s something Seifer realizes about his attraction to Squall Leonhart, and it’s stupid and such a cliché, _he’s the ice to my fire_ but it’s also true. Squall’s immoveable coolness, like some endless patient glacier, is the thing that finally lulls Seifer into sleep.

***

“She made me fuck her,” says Seifer, into the dark.

It’s a few hours later, and a nightmare didn’t wake him but it’s definitely not helping him get back to sleep.

“At first I didn’t know…I just saw her and thought she was beautiful. Powerful. Everything I’d ever wanted. That stupid dream of mine, and all my other dreams were failures and she was so…she said everything I wanted to hear. And then we made our bond and she…took me to bed, and I let her. I was into it. I touched her and I – I did what she wanted and then right before I…before I came, she unlocked all the memories I didn’t remember. I looked down at her and I knew her, and that’s what got her off. The look on my face when I realized who she was, and what we were doing.”

It comes out in a rush, half-garbled and harsh, like some penitent’s unwilling prayer.  

Squall’s breathing is still deep and even, and somehow it doesn’t matter if he’s awake or not, Seifer just keeps talking, he suddenly can’t stop.

“She made me…be with her. Again. I couldn’t stop her. I told you that she sliced me open when I let you escape, but I didn’t tell you she was riding my cock at the time. She came when she did it to me.  She wanted me to know that’s what got her off. She made me come, too, and I think that’s the…worst.”

There’s a slight inhale behind him, a tightening of the arm around him, and Seifer knows that Squall is awake.

“She’d make me fuck other people, too. For her _amusement._ She’d – if I didn’t – I had to do it, and like it, or they’d never make it out of there alive. And then she’d let other people – with me, and I couldn’t….”

Squall doesn’t speak, still, but his hand goes down and he’s gently rubbing the scars Ultimecia left, his breathing so soft against Seifer’s neck, his body cool and calming, heartbeat steady against Seifer’s back.

“I did anything she wanted. Even after she nearly disemboweled me. But I can’t get her face out of my head, Matron’s face, she used to tell me when I was a kid,  _Seifer, if you don’t get a handle on that temper of yours it’s going to make it very hard later on for you to have friends._ Then, when I was her Knight, she pointed at an entire village full of innocent people and told me to burn it to ashes. So I did it, and my reward was that she didn’t torture me when she made me fuck her.”

“That wasn’t Matron,” Squall says, his voice just as soft as Seifer’s. “You know that, Seifer.”

“I know it wasn’t really her, but it was _me_ , Squall. Me. I did those things with her and for her and to her, and in the end I just thought maybe if she won she’d be happy with me and make me forget. Or kill me. But she didn’t, and neither did you when had the chance, and neither did _Garden_ and they gave me that fucking pardon and you know what? It felt like a death sentence because I knew I’d have to live with this, and maybe that’s why they did fucking did it, hell, it’s no less than I deserve.”

“Stop this,” Squall says, against the back of his neck. “You were her puppet, Seifer. I know you hate that, I know it’s easier for your pride to think you had all the free will in the world but you _didn’t_. At some point you have to decide which is worse; forgiving yourself or admitting you were a puppet under someone else’s control.”

Squall strokes a hand down Seifer’s chest. “I know because I’d feel the same way, okay? I know how much pride you have but you can’t keep thinking it makes you something less to admit that you weren’t in control.”

Seifer tenses, but he doesn’t push Squall away. “At some point you can’t pretend I didn’t have enough free will to make choices that hurt you and a lot of people you care about.”

“I’ve never pretended you haven’t,” Squall says. “You did bad things, but you’re not a bad man. And Seifer, for fuck’s sake, we were _orphans._ All we ever wanted was for someone to choose us and love us best. If you think Ultimecia didn’t know exactly what she was doing when she chose you as a Knight, knowing your past with Matron, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

This is a lot of words for Squall, and they both anger and soothe him in turn. “You were an orphan, too, and you didn’t turn into an attention whore with a chip on your shoulder like I did.”

“No, I just stopped trying to make people notice me because I’d inevitably fail to be what they wanted.”

Seifer shifts so he’s lying on his back, and Squall adjusts so he’s leaning up over him, propped on one elbow. He hesitantly takes Squall’s hand, placing it down on his stomach, where the worst of the scars are. The cool touch is immediately soothing. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah. Look, you might not have looked me in the eyes and said _I regret the bad things I did_ but I know that you do, Seifer. And what Ultimecia did to you wearing Matron’s face was abuse. You aren’t to blame for trying to survive.”

“I liked it, Squall. A lot of the things I did were terrible and I still liked doing them.” He closes his eyes, sickened. “I told you that about torturing you, and I wasn’t lying.”

“Of course you liked it. She made sure of it. I don’t know what else to tell you, Seifer. You had some agency, enough so that you’d think you were making your decisions. I wish I could do something to make you believe that but I can’t.”

Logically, Seifer knows this. And he knows a lot of it is exactly what Squall said – he doesn’t _want_ to think of himself as nothing but a puppet with no free will. But he also doesn’t think he deserves to be let off the hook as easily as, say, Rinoa or Edea, who really _weren’t_ aware of what they were doing.

And he knows himself, and all the dark and mean little pieces that Ultimecia dragged into the light and gave free reign. The problem is he’s not sure if there’s anything else left of him anymore.

Squall leans down, the chain he wears around his neck brushing against Seifer’s nose. It’s the Griever charm he sometimes keeps on his weapon and sometimes doesn’t, Seifer’s not sure what makes him decide where to put it. He kisses the top of Seifer’s forehead. “You’re trying to be someone better than you who you were. I get that. All right?”

“I had my good points before,” Seifer points out, because, well, he does have his fair share of pride and honestly, he’s not _entirely_ without some redeeming qualities. Which is Squall’s point, but whatever.

“Yeah. A lot of them were annoying, but maybe they’ve grown on me.” He repeats that strange, gentle kiss on Seifer’s forehead then shifts back, allowing Seifer his space if he wants it.

“Did Rinoa tell you to come see me?”

Squall nods. “Yeah. She said that she gave you a hug earlier and felt your bond. Or the place where it used to be, I guess. And she said you  -- looked at her like you were terrified but also like it wasn’t her you were seeing.”

That’s pretty much in a nutshell. “Yeah.” He reaches up and slides his fingers around the back of Squall’s neck to pull him down. “Tell her it wasn’t her fault. It…Fu tried hugging me and I nearly threw her in the ocean. Of course, partly it was surprise because Fu’s never hugged me in her life, but still. It’s just women, and especially because Rinoa has magic.”

“You don’t need to explain it. I think she gets it. She’s just worried you’ll stop ‘kind of being her friend’, and before you say anything, those were her words, not mine.”

Seifer huffs. “She wants to be friends with me, well, that’s her choice. I probably won’t make it easy, but she’s definitely gotta be used to _that_ , so…”

“Hey.” Squall kisses Seifer when Seifer pulls him down, but when things get a little heated and Seifer tries pulling Squall on top of him, Squall resists. He gives Seifer a cautious, slightly questioning look that clearly says _are you sure you want this, and that it’s a good idea?_

“I had this taken from me by someone who didn’t care what I wanted,” Seifer growls against his mouth. “Don’t do the same thing by telling me I don’t want it when I do.”

“Just checking,” Squall says, and that’s that.

Squall fucks him and it’s good like it always is, and Squall doesn’t do something stupid like try and make it gentle just because of the story Seifer told him. Seifer needs it rough and hard, enough to get him fully out of his head and it works, he falls into a dreamless sleep and doesn’t wake up until later that afternoon. It’s late enough that the sun is pouring through his window and hitting him directly in the face, which if it’s a metaphor, how fucking subtle.  

Squall tries to make him an omelet for breakfast, but ends up giving him a plate of scrambled eggs that are more than a little overcooked, delivered with a mumbled apology and a promise to buy Seifer a new spatula.

***

Quistis’s birthday dinner is at the restaurant over the inn in Balamb Town, and Seifer is there despite wishing to be just about anywhere else in the Hyne-damned world (with a few notable exceptions).

It’s October so it’s technically fall, but in the seaside town just means it’s not as scorching hot during the day. He refuses to show up in a suit like this is a job interview, but Rinoa -- who is responsible for a lot of things in Seifer’s life that he’s not sure how she got put in charge of, like his schedule and his social calendar and now apparently his wardrobe – found him a crisp gray-green button up that she insisted looks good with his hair and brings out the color of his eyes.

Seifer might not want to sleep with Rinoa, but he trusts her fashion sense – especially after he sees Squall in the suit she picked out for the occasion. It’s unrelieved black from the slim-cut jacket to the trousers to the crisp shirt and vest, and the only spot of color is a tie that’s almost the exact shade of Squall’s slate eyes. 

Rinoa looks gorgeous, wearing a fluffy skirt made out of some fabric dancers always wear, a loose sleeveless top in dark blue with a black sparkly collar, and a pretty kickass pair of combat boots.

She looks like a ballerina mercenary biker. It’s a good look on her.

Even though Seifer promised he was coming, Quistis still looks surprised to see him – though it might be the sight of him unfolding his too-tall body from the back of Rinoa’s absurdly small convertible. Quistis looks great, her honey-colored hair worn loose around her shoulders, sporting a pair of knee-high boots and a minidress that shows off her long, lean legs.

Selphie looks cute in a sundress and heels with a lot of ropey necklaces, and Irvine is possibly wearing a bolo tie and somehow making it work, though Seifer isn’t sure how. Irvine’s arm is around Selphie’s waist so they must be on the on-again phase.  

Zell is glaring daggers at him like always, hair spiked and still looking like a perpetual sixteen-year-old. Seifer opens his mouth to say something mean, decides it’s too easy, and just gives him the same nod as everyone else.

Dinner isn’t as bad as a staff meeting, so there’s that. Seifer mostly just covertly stares at Squall and thinks about getting him out of that suit.  

“…right, Seifer?”

He blinks, realizing Rinoa’s asking him something and says, “Uh, yeah. Sure. What?”

She shakes her head. “I said, I know for a fact Seifer knows how to use a shared calendar, so yes, you can add him to the social one.”

“No need,” Seifer says, glaring at her.

Rinoa’s eyes go all wide and innocent. “But Seifer, I thought you’d want to try and be friends with everyone. Especially now.”

He knows what she’s doing, they all talked about it on the way over. Squall looks resigned and a little miserable, as he tends to when he knows something involving him and feelings are going to be discussed with other people. Seifer knows not to take it personally. 

“Why especially now?” Selphie asks, peering at him. “You’ve been here a few months already and you barely talk to any of us.”

Do any of them actually _want_ him to talk to them? Why? Growing up together in some half-forgotten childhood seems a stupid reason to want to make friends with a guy who tried to kill you several times, but what does he know.

“Do you _want_ me to talk to you?” he asks. 

Selphie shrugs. “I mean. I wouldn’t hate it. We grew up together.”

“Which doesn’t really matter, does it, since we don’t remember it?”

“Irvy remembers a lot more than most of us,” Selphie says.

Irvine tips his hat. He looks less angry or annoyed by Seifer and mostly just sort of amused. Seifer’s not sure he likes that any better, though.

“Still. I did try and kill you, you know.”  

“Seifer,” Quistis says. “It’s my birthday, and for a present, how about we don’t bring that up?”

“Yeah, this could actually be about Quistis and not you,” Zell says, a little snidely. And unfairly, Seifer thinks, because he didn’t actually start this conversation and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

“Listen, Chicken-Wuss, I didn’t even want to—”

“Stop.” Squall’s voice cuts him off. “That nickname pisses him off and you know it. Either call him Zell or just don’t call him anything.”

The old Seifer would have – well, never been sitting at this table. And some part of Seifer wishes he were the old Seifer, for the simple fact that this is hard. It’s hard to be around people who bonded so strongly and basically did so while fighting _you_ , people who have the moral high ground because they fought on the right side and for the right reasons.

Seifer isn’t even a villain as much as he is a failed lackey, a puppet who survived only because he was no longer useful and the master cut his strings. He thinks about that and his conversation with Squall a few nights ago, then sighs and turns to Zell.

“You’re right. It’s a stupid nickname, especially since I’ve fought you and know how fucking hard you hit.”  

Well, if anything, the looks on their faces – especially Chicken-W—er, Zell’s – are fucking hilarious. He kind of likes that part. He turns to Selphie. “I’m sorry about Trabia. I know it doesn’t help and look, Quisty, sorry I’m mentioning this on your birthday when you just said not to, but uh, I guess it’s easier to just say it all now and not have to do this however many times.”

Rinoa is beaming at him. “Seifer has changed, you guys.”

“Not that much,” he says, glaring at her, because he’s not a different fucking person or anything. “I mean, if you didn’t like me before the war you probably won’t like me now, but go ahead and try if you want. I know we all grew up together and honestly, I was probably a dick then, too.”

“You were,” says Zell, but without heat. “You made my life hell, man. I can’t believe you’re not just pulling some sneaky trick on me.”

“Seifer doesn’t have any reason to trick you,” Squall assures Zell. “And he might be good at fighting dirty but he kind of sucks at being sneaky.”  

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Seifer says, and he means the endearment even if he’s sure it sounds like he doesn’t. “Your support is appreciated.”

“Whatever,” says Squall, a slight curve to his mouth.

It turns out that Rinoa doesn’t need to drop any more clues about shared calendars, because Selphie makes a shocked little noise and claps her hands over her mouth. “No way! No _way. No. Way._ ”

“Wanna share with the class, Sefie?” Irvine drawls.  

“Sure, why not, I just won _so much money_ ,” she says, bouncing in her seat. “And a party! Quistis, you said! You said if I won the bet I could throw a party and you all have to heeeeelp,” she says, sing-songing the last word.

“I’m not agreeing to anything unless there’s confirmation that you did win,” Quistis says calmly, eating a breadstick.

“What?” Zell looks confused, and the old Seifer _and_ the new Seifer finds it hard not to laugh.

“Squall and Seifer,” Irvine says.

“Yeah. I know who they are, thanks,” Zell says.  

Rinoa opens her mouth, but Seifer leans around Squall and points his fork at her. “No, don’t, I want to see how long it takes him.”

Squall loses his patience and honestly, Seifer’s surprised it took this long. “I think she’s referring to the fact that Seifer and I are dating.”

Clearly Squall is determined to punish Seifer by literally never letting him have any fun, ever.

“Wait,” Zell says, and then looks at Rinoa. “Uh. You two broke up?”

“What! No, of course not, we have an arrangement!” Rinoa claps her hands together. “Guys, I’m not trying to brag, here –”

“Yes you are,” Squall mutters.

“But, I am really good at this whole sharing thing.” Rinoa beams. “I set up a calendar! Oh, and doesn’t Seifer look nice in that shirt? I picked that out.” She rubs her hands together. “Send me anywhere, I will totally make peace between warring factions and pick out clothes, it’s like my dream job.”

“So she picks out your clothes _and_ your boyfriend?” Zell asks, a little snidely.

Seifer just shrugs and takes a sip of his water. “Apparently.”  He’s not rising to that bait, because honestly it’s kind of true.

Seifer doesn’t say much for the rest of the dinner, because he doesn’t have a lot to add. They reference the war enough that he starts to become uncomfortable, his earlier bravado fading bit by bit like a Shield spell. It’s nothing overt and it isn’t even about battles, really; just stories about this or that and they have fond memories of being together at times when he was being tormented in a closed dark room for his innumerable failures.

Seifer fights the burn of his anger but it’s harder and harder to ignore, and then suddenly Squall reaches over and grabs his hand. “Hey. Stop.”

And he does. The cool, icy calm of Squall’s magic washes over him, making him almost shiver. He gives a rough nod, and Squall drops his hand and goes back to his – really boring – conversation with Quistis.

Zell and Selphie are both staring at him.

Seifer shrugs. “We weren’t making it up.” He curls his fingers into his palm, as if trapping the cold press of Squall’s magic against his skin.

“Seifer, you have Jaran Lowe in your advanced class, right?” Selphie asks. “Because I want that girl to specialize in nunchakus but nooooo, she’s got her heart set on being a gunblader like her idol.”

“Why is it always Squall? I mean. I’m a good idol! Who doesn’t want to hit people with their bare hands like me!” Zell shadowboxes in his seat. He flashes a grin at Squall.

“There are plenty, hello, remember the student that that got a face tattoo like yours?” Selphie giggles. “Sure, she did it to herself with a marker, but still. And nope, Squall isn’t Jaran’s hero, it’s _Seifer._ I thought maybe she just had a crush on him, but….”

“She has a crush on Maris Devane,” Seifer says. “Duh. It’s pretty obvious, Tilmitt.”

Talking about students is the easiest conversational topic of all, and it gently brings the focus away from the things Seifer doesn’t want to talk about, the line that divides them and doesn’t care about Seifer’s good intentions or everyone else’s forgiveness.

As they leave the restaurant, Selphie and Irvine give him a wave, and Zell comes up to him, his eyes wary.

“I don’t know if I buy this, but. I guess you’ve been more of a dick than you were tonight. And hey, Squall isn’t the only guy who likes to spar. I did kick your ass several times in a fight, so, you could use some hand-to-hand lessons and I’ll probably feel a lot better if I can hit you in the face a few times.”

This is weird, but Seifer does like to fight and Zell really is a talented martial artist. “Sure, if you want.” He bites back the _don’t go tattling on me like you always did when I beat you up._ Who says he can't learn? 

“Huh. Well, okay, cool. Bye.” Zell goes over to say something to Squall, maybe asking permission to wail on Squall’s boyfriend in the name of training.  

Quistis comes over next, smiling in a way that makes him tense, because she looks like she wants to hug him. This could have gone a lot worse, actually, and he doesn’t want to end the evening having a panic attack, or worse, making everyone feel sorry for him.

_So tell her it’s not personal, you just don’t think you can hug her because you’re getting over some shit._

The idea that he doesn’t have to slaughter himself on some altar for their forgiveness, laying bare every terrible thing that happened to him during the war, is a new one. And it’s very welcome, but he knows it’s only possible if he believes, at some point, that he’s worth being forgiven.

“I’m glad you came. And I’m…well, I can’t say that I’m that surprised about you and Squall hooking up, but I’m glad it seems to be positive for everyone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Seifer says, because he’s not sure what else to say. He has a feeling Quistis might have already known; Rinoa’s one of those people who likes to talk through things she’s feeling constantly, and the two of them are very close.  He wouldn’t be surprised if she had discussed the situation about this whole sharing thing before _Seifer_ even knew about it. 

“Oh, I thought I should tell you that one of your students, Jaran Lowe, will be staying here over break along with a few others. Squall asked if we could make some rooms available for students who might not want to go home, so I put up a first-come, first-serve announcement on the student message board. Jaran was the first name on the list, so you can make sure she’s doing her exercises with the gunblade over break.”

Seifer glares over at Squall, annoyed and impressed by Squall’s fucking _nerve_ , of course he managed to slide in there and find a reason to keep Jaran from having to go home in the first place. Seifer wants to punch him, then kiss him, and then fuck him into the mattress.

Seifer very pointedly turns his back on his meddling boyfriend and focuses on Quistis again. “Thanks. For blackmailing me into coming to your party.”

“Why did I remember you as being a lot more charming?” asks Quistis.

Seifer throws his head back and laughs. “I have _no_ idea, Quisty. I was never charming, I was just loud. Maybe you got so used to Squall, you thought it was the same thing?”

“Probably,” she agrees. “And aww. You called me Quisty.”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

“Wouldn’t dare, Seifer.” She smiles. “What are my chances for a hug?”

Well, at least she asked. “Not good. And it’s not you. I’ve got some fucked up shit in my head and I’m dealing with it, but…”

“Not quite there yet?” she asks, and she doesn’t look angry or even pitying, she looks…well, like she went through a war, too, and she understands how it can fuck you up no matter who you fought for. “I understand. You’re doing a really great job as an instructor, Seifer. Even if some of your students are convinced you are Diabolos in human form.”

Delighted, Seifer grins at her. “I’m gonna tell ‘em that I am.”

She laughs and waves, then heads over to give Squall a hug and then heads to her car.

They drop Rinoa off at the train station with her bag, as she, Quistis and Selphie are going to some spa for the weekend for Quistis’s actual birthday. Rinoa gives Squall a very passionate kiss, half-climbing in his lap, the wind blowing her loose dark hair around both their faces. “You look so good in that suit, baby. I hope when Seifer tears it off you, later, he remembers it’s not cheap and if he ruins a single thread he’s going to have to pay to fix it.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Seifer says, from the backseat. Like he’s going to do anything that will make it more difficult to see Squall in that suit again, honestly, she needs to give him some more credit.

She laughs and climbs out of the car so she can get her bag out of the trunk, and so Seifer can move into the passenger seat because Squall refuses to drive like he’s Seifer’s chauffeur.

“Bye,” Squall says, embracing her, and he buries his face in her dark hair and hugs her so hard he lifts her off her feet. “Don’t stay in the hot springs too long, you know hot water makes you dizzy.”

Seifer is glad to know that it’s not just his good time that Squall likes to ruin.

She walks over to Seifer and says, “Take care of our boyfriend. And the suit. I’m serious, Almasy. You can rough up Squall but leave that suit alone. Hang it up. On a hanger, not a chair.”

“On a hanger, not a chair,” he mimics. “Have fun, don’t drown.”

“Wow, you guys.” She gives him a little wave, which he returns, then tugs Squall down by the tie to kiss him one last time. “Bye, I love you!”

“Love you, too,” Squall says, a quiet whisper as he strokes a hand down her dark hair.

For the first time Seifer thinks about saying that to someone, _I love you,_ not because he wants to hear it back but just because he wants them to know. 

***

“If you don’t want to ruin that suit, you should probably get out of it,” Seifer says the second they’re in his apartment, stalking toward him. The intensity of his desire for Squall continually surprises him, and he’s feeling it tonight even more than usual, realizes he wants to fuck Squall and hopes that isn’t going to be a problem.

Squall leans back against the counter and gives Seifer a long, unblinking stare full of challenge. “Maybe I want to see if you can control yourself and take it off me.”

“Maybe I wanna fuck you,” Seifer says, heat washing over him.

Squall gives him a slow little smile that sets Seifer’s teeth on edge for a thousand contradictory reasons, and then Squall reaches out one hand, slowly, and mimics Seifer’s _come get me_ gesture with two fingers. He even tilts his chin up.

The suit doesn’t end up _ripped_ off – it’s too well-made for that – but it’s close. The pieces fall in a trail to the bedroom, wrinkled though that’s nothing some dry cleaning won’t fix. Seifer is all over Squall, stripping him down to his tight boxer briefs before pushing him down on the bed. Seifer traps him there, mouthing down Squall’s chest and his stomach, over his hard cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“Seifer,” Squall pants, tugging on his hair. His head is thrown back and his body’s arched up, and it’s so fucking sexy that Seifer almost stops to get his phone and take a picture.

“You have too many clothes on.” Squall fists Seifer’s shirt and pulls him in to kiss him. His fingers make short work of the buttons and Seifer twists around so that Squall can pull his shirt off. They both sort of fight at Seifer’s pants, making it take about four times longer than it would if just one of them had done it.

Seifer slides his body over Squall’s, as always thrilling at the feel of cool skin against his. Squall’s lean form is tense with lust and his hands are moving over Seifer’s back, his cock hard where it rubs against Seifer’s own.

“You still want to –” Squall pants, arching up against him.

“Fuck, yes, I still want to,” Seifer growls. He reaches over and grabs the lube out of the drawer.

“Switched brands, I see,” Squall says, tossing him a smug little smile as he recognizes the bottle as the same one from his own apartment.

Seifer shrugs. “Gotta spend that raise of mine on something.”

Squall laughs, low and amused, and hearing Squall laugh is almost as hot as hearing Squall moan. Seifer settles between Squall’s spread legs and clicks open the bottle. Squall doesn’t look nervous or worried, he reclines back on Seifer’s bed, watching, propped up on both elbows. His dark hair is in his face, mouth wet and parted, his eyes wide.

“Fuck, you look so goddamn hot,” Seifer says, without thinking.

Squall stares at him, and then says, “So do you.” His cock twitches on his stomach and if he’s got any reservations about this, they are nowhere to be found in his body language. Squall’s legs fall open a little and he reaches down, playing with his cock while Seifer slides two fingers between his legs and strokes over his hole.

Squall’s tight, hot around Seifer’s fingers, and his head falls back again as Seifer starts fucking him. For once he can see every single thing Squall’s feeling on his face and it’s addictive, immediately, he’s so hard just watching how Squall reacts to his fingers that he thinks he’s never going to last when he actually gets his cock inside of him.

He can tell when he finds Squall’s prostate because he makes a sound and his hips buck, he’s fucking himself on Seifer’s fingers and it’s maybe the hottest thing Seifer’s ever seen.

“Come on,” Squall says, grabbing at him. “Fuck me already.”

“Mmm. What if I asked you to beg me?”

Squall’s eyes narrow. “I’ll maybe say please. But that’s it.”

Seifer laughs; the response is so perfectly Squall, what else could he have expected? He slicks his cock up and leans down to kiss him, pressing against Squall’s entrance. He can feel the press of Squall’s thighs against his hips, lean and muscled. “You want it this way?” 

“Whatever,” says Squall, breathing hard, pressing his forehead to Seifer’s. “Sure, just – come on already.”

That’s good because Seifer wants to see Squall’s face, so he pulls back a little and pushes in, gently, which is sort of amazing given the years he’s fantasized about doing this and his fantasies weren’t always nice.

Squall gets a hand around the back of Seifer’s neck, his head thrown back and biting his own lower lip as Seifer presses in; when he opens his eyes they are wild and unfocused, face flushed and the inside of his body is hot like a furnace.

“Hey,” Seifer says, and he’s not sure what he wants to ask here, but Squall just nods so Seifer doesn’t stop. Squall’s body goes liquid around him all at once, and the expression of mild discomfort on Squall’s face changes into one of surprised pleasure as Seifer starts moving.

“That – fuck, yeah, can you do that harder,” Squall pants, grabbing now at Seifer’s shoulders like an anchor.

“Can I do it harder,” Seifer mocks, but his own voice is totally wrecked. He fucks Squall harder, and when Squall puts his palms on the wall behind the bed so he can push himself forward on Seifer’s cock, Seifer almost makes him stop because he’s about to come just from the thought of it.

They’re both good at fighting and they’re good at this, too; they find a rhythm of Seifer fucking Squall harder than he’s fucked anyone, ever, and Squall is fucking _himself_ on Seifer’s cock and making so much noise that Seifer knows he’s going to jerk off in the shower every morning for the foreseeable future remembering how he sounded.

Seifer grabs Squall’s cock with his free hand, still slick with lube and jerks him in time with his thrusts. They’re both panting and Squall’s actually talking, mostly just some variation of _yeah, there, harder, faster, c’mon, don’t stop_ , all of which are hot and desperate and yet somehow also bossy at the same time. So perfectly, perfectly Squall Leonhart that it isn’t even funny.

Seifer can feel when Squall’s about to come, the way he tenses up and how his thighs are trembling as they wrap around Seifer’s hips. When he does it’s with a loud shout, come streaking his abdominals as his body tightens around Seifer’s cock so much it’s nearly painful.  Seifer’s so close and he can hear someone saying, “Smack me,” and that’s him, whatever, he doesn’t care.

Squall gives him the most half-hearted face slap in the history of ever, Seifer tries to laugh at him but it turns into a groan as, instead of hurting him like Seifer thinks he wants, Squall pulls him down and kisses him breathless. Seifer comes with his moan lost somewhere in their kiss, his whole body shuddering and his vision going white from pleasure.

They don’t stop kissing even when it’s over, though they’re both out of breath and there’s a lot of gasping go on. Seifer finally pulls back and eases off him, and watches in exhausted, satisfied amusement as Squall flings an arm up over his eyes and sprawls like a starfish on the bed.

“You are. So hot.”

Seifer’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and he glances over at Squall with his eyebrows nearly in his hairline. “You just sounded like a teenage girl.”

“I meant. Your body temperature. You are literally _hot_. Like I’m gonna get a sunburn." 

Of course that’s what he means. Seifer snorts, then laughs – fucked-out Squall is maybe his new favorite. He shakes his head. “Well, you’re way too cold, Ice Prince.”

“Whatever.” Squall’s mouth quirks up. “I liked that. You’re good at it.”

Seifer’s happy to hear that, but he leans down and kisses him and says, “You were okay.”

Squall hits him lightly on the arm with about as much force as his half-hearted smack from earlier. “Gimme some water. N’not hot water. Cold water.”

“Couldn’t you just make it cold if it were too hot?”

“Seifer,” Squall whines – and it’s maybe not whining for other people, but it definitely is for Squall.

Seifer laughs and gets up, making his way on wobbly legs to the kitchen. He steps neatly around the pieces of Squall’s suit, though he scoops up the tie on his way back into the bedroom. He has ideas for round two, and if the tie can’t be dry-cleaned, Seifer will get him another one. Good lube and neckties seem like as good a thing as any to spend his money on.

He has a feeling Rinoa will forgive him.

***

“Did you not want to do that because of what happened with Ultimecia?”

Someone should really give Squall a talk about _how not to ruin the mood_ , especially after two rounds of sex and right before falling asleep. Seifer opens one eye, annoyed, but he doesn’t turn around. Squall is pressed up against his back, face pressed against that spot on his neck and one arm around his waist.

Apparently cuddling with Squall Leonhart is fine as long as you let him be the big spoon. Why Seifer is surprised by this, he doesn’t know.

“Could you not say her name in _bed with me_?” Seifer growls. “Timing, man, what is your problem?”

“I don’t have any sense of tact? I’m bad at finding appropriate moments to introduce important conversations? These are things Rinoa’s said to me, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a smart girl, both of those are right on the gil.” He thinks about it, fighting off the unease he always feels whenever he hears that name given voice like a spell that can’t be called back. “I don’t know, Squall. Maybe? I didn’t…I honestly wasn’t trying to lie to you, before, when I said I like it when you fuck me. I guess there could have been something keeping me from wanting to do it, but…nothing with you is anything like what happened with her, so.”

“I know I’m not good at this part,” Squall says, sounding strangely vulnerable. “But I’m trying.”

“What part?” Seifer does look over his shoulder when he hears that. “Cuddling? I thought we fixed that by letting you be the big spoon.”

“Talking about things,” Squall says, each word so precise it’s like he carved them with his gunblade. “I want to…help. You.”

Seifer rolls his eyes in the dark. “Squally, don’t be a fucking idiot.” Seifer used to be better at talking about his feelings, or so he thought; maybe he’d just been good at reacting to them, which isn’t really the same thing. “You are helping me.”

“Okay. But I…I’m not good at this part. The bond makes it easier with Rin, but uh. You and me…we don’t have one of those.”

And thank Hyne for that, they’d murder each other in a week if they had to be in each other’s heads that much.

There’s actually something sort of sweet about Squall so ineptly trying to convey his feelings. “Yes, you’re helping me. Obviously. If you weren’t I’d be getting into trouble, probably. And I’m not. I have a legit job and a boyfriend and a shared fucking calendar, what more do you want from me?”

 “I’m good,” says Squall, biting at his neck.  

 _I love you,_ Seifer thinks, turning it around his head over and over, getting used to the idea, the way the words sound in his head. He knows without any doubt that he means it, and that he’s able to feel it at all after what happened says he’s fractured, maybe, but not broken.

It feels like winning a war, like emerging victorious from a battle in which no one had to bleed.

***

Before he leaves to go pick Rinoa up from the station on Sunday, Squall pulls him in and kisses him, then presses something into his palm. “Here.”

Blinking, Seifer looks down at the thing in his hand; it’s Squall’s Griever’s cross pendant, the one that migrates between his gunblade and the chain. “What….”

“I – Rinoa has my ring. I want you to have this.” Squall honestly kicks his boot against the floor, looking down and rubbing his hand over the back of his head. “Just. When things get bad, if you get lost in your head…knowing someone cares. It can help you get back.”

Seifer doesn’t know what to say.

His fingers aren’t quite steady as he fastens the chain around his neck, the pendant settling warm on his chest. If anyone’s ever given him a gift with quite as much meaning behind it, he doesn’t know when.

Squall looks up at him, looking young and a little vulnerable, like he’s worried he’s done something wrong. But he pulls Seifer down to kiss him and his fingers drift down, closing gently around Seifer’s where they’re still gripping the pendant.

When they break apart, Seifer tugs Squall so he can press their scars together. “I love you, too,” he says, because of course that’s what it means, this gift, and he can tell from Squall’s slight exhale that Squall’s relieved he caught that.

Well, whatever. Seifer Almasy is a lot of things, and probably many of them aren’t that great, but one thing he’s always been is a romantic.

 


End file.
